


Manor

by lonebeauty



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Drama, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gothic, Harems, Horror, Love Triangles, Misogyny, Physical Abuse, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29060046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonebeauty/pseuds/lonebeauty
Summary: Set in an alternate timeline in which Aerith and Ifalna do not leave the Shinra labs,  a twenty year old Aerith is brought to the Shinra Manor where she is maltreated as a servant by Professor Hojo.A Gothic Horror suspense story featuring the Tserith / AeriSeph / Aerith x Vincent pairings.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Sephiroth, Aerith Gainsborough/Tseng, Aerith Gainsborough/Vincent Valentine
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	Manor

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Aerith endures psychological/physical abuse at the hands of Hojo in some brief (and not overly detailed) scenes, which I hope to limit to the first chapter. There’s also some vampiric activity that is not consensual in the beginning. 
> 
> Tseng and (adult) Aerith have an ambiguous relationship which may lead to eventual romance. 
> 
> Be aware that this story contains horror elements mostly psychological in nature.

Aerith, twenty years old.

Wrists bound with rope, fingers interlaced in a state of prayer. 

With shackles bejeweled at her feet, she is Shinra’s most prized prisoner. 

The clouds disperse to reveal the clarity of day; the sunlight dapples through velvet tassels, leaving delicate patterns on her collarbones.If she squints hard enough, she can scarcely perceive a vast, vivid landscape through the lace of her blindfold.Chocobo feathers ruffle ahead of the carriage she resides in, warking gleefully in contrast to the grim nature of her circumstances.Her destination is unknown, but she prays it is someplace hospitable. 

Beside her is the rotting breath of a man she knows well — Professor Hojo of the Science Department.His rot spews towards her with such tenacity it nearly congeals in the air, and she faces the window hoping to evade his stench.To her dismay, he leans even closer, laying a skeletal hand on her thigh.“We’re almost there, my dear sweet girl.”He says dotingly, and through the lace of her blindfold she gleams a set of yellowed teeth to match his pungent smell.“Are you ready to earn your keep?”

“Yes, Professor.”She answers with a yielding docility that is uncharacteristic of her.There is a darkness in her heart that Hojo has long been implementing;he has broken her mind and soul, not with ease, but with careful, deliberate planning and precision.She is, at the moment, a shell of porcelain in his care.

The carriage comes to a grinding halt after descending what feels like the undulating slope of a mountain;Hojo leads the bound and blindfolded Aerith out of the chocobo car.He unknots the blindfold and it falls to the gravel, unveiling a stark, silhouetted house backdropped against soft hues of cerulean blue sky.“Say hello to your new home, Aerith.Quite the oasis, isn’t it?The solitude here should help you regain your visions.”

Visions of the Promised Land, that is. It is all Hojo ever talks about.

Aerith, free from her shackles, makes her way past the shrubbery; the Manor is large and equipped with a garden, albeit one of weeds and wildly overgrown thicket.She marvels at the idea of it once being lush with greenery, and for a moment, her lips kindle into a long, forgotten smile. 

It does not take long before Hojo is driven to fury, perhaps by this momentary display of rapture.He retrieves her by the arm, jerking her towards him.“Don’t wander around without my permission, you fool.” He says, as if she has committed a grave sin of enacting autonomy.“I will not have you getting lost on these premises.” 

She nods subserviently, but her heart begins to pace in defiance.“It won’t happen again, Professor.” She says to placate him. 

They enter the Shinra Manor.There are cobwebs in every corner of the foyer; there are statues and statuettes of armored knights and paladins, black and white mages of olden times.She stares at a chocobo which has been taxidermied, its beaded eyes riddle with dirt and dust. _Poor thing_ , she thinks to herself.It had been preserved with care, only to be abandoned once more. 

The light beams dimly through the enormous stained glass window creating a mosaic of colors throughout the foyer.Up the stairs they go, past the chandelier into the west wing of the Manor, where Hojo shambles through the winding corridor with the sound of loose change clamoring in his pockets.They reach a door made of rosewood and he procures a set of keys, turns the knob and orders for her to enter. 

It is a prosaic space, without any notable characteristics.It has not the luxury of a master bedroom, but the humbleness of guest room with one twin sized bed, plain linen sheets and a large cedar chest situated at its foot. 

“Open it.”Hojo commands, and upon doing so, a moth flutters out of the chest and a blast of stale laundry detergent assails her nostrils.There are garments inside, wrinkled and dusty, and she quickly gathers that they are for her.She slips out of her gown — numb to Hojo’s ever leering eyes — into the garments provided.Produced in the hyaline looking glass is her reflection staring back at her; her eyes widen and her mouth falls agape.

It is a maid’s uniform that she sees herself in. 

“What’s the matter, my dear?Don’t you like it?”

She clutches the ruffled hem of her apron and looks to her feet.“I was told I’d be painting, not housekeeping.”

“You’ll be doing both.I can’t have you remaining idle in a place like this.You’ll lose your mind, and the paintings will suffer.”

“Whatif...” she asks meekly, “I don’t want to?”

Hojo laughs.“Stupid girl.Whatever makes you think you’re in any position to defy me?Have you already forgotten about your dearest mother, who we’ve left behind in the Shinra labs?”He digs his fingernails into her shoulder as if to reinforce his authority.“We wouldn’t want anything _bad_ happening to her, now would we?”

The ball in Aerith’s throat swells;the inner corners of her eyes turn wet.Hojo stands before her in a state of derision.They are about the same height, due to the arch in his posture, but she swears he is staring down at her as if she is some small, asthenic creature.

“Forgive me.”She says, feigning blunder.“I’m just so tired from our trip.”

“You are free to get some rest, honey, after you head down to the kitchen and prepare me a sandwich.I am utterly starving — and cooking is one of your main duties in this household.”

She smiles at him, a smile discordant with her anger, bows, and exits the room. 

And so their days begin together; Hojo hides away in the darkness of the Manor’s basement, where there is presumably a laboratory.Aerith is left maintaining the west wing of the home.“I will spare you the burden of taking on the east wing,” he tells her, “You are but one girl, after all, and I would prefer if you’d conserve the bulk of your energy for the paintings.”

The paintings ... a dreadful task that Hojo requires her to accomplish in the drawing room as he supervises.Her pupils dilate and she leaves her body in a trance while he sips tea by hearth and warms his calloused feet over the fireside. When she comes to, the canvas before her is swathed with black figures, all unfathomable to the human eye.Hojo’s eyebrows knit together in disdain. 

“What is this supposed to be, Aerith?”

“I am...” Her lips tremble at the sight of her failure, “having trouble conjuring anything coherent.” 

“A damn shame, that is.Well, it can’t be helped. We’ve arrived for just one week.Perhaps a longer stretch of solitude is required.” 

She nods in relief.Hojo is not mad at her. He is always going on about the Promised Land, how she must lead him there, but right now he is not mad.She savors this moment of respite — it will not last long. 

****

The evening is somber;Aerith hears rustling coming from the master bedroom — Hojo’s room.She brings him his tea on a silver tray, places it on the drawer.He sits in a pile of paper documents bestrewn across the carpet and flails both arms in the air.“God damn it!I must make an emergency trip to Midgar, Aerith.I trust that you’ll be fine on your own for a couple of days?”

“Yes, I’ll be all right.” 

“This goes without saying, but don’t even think about escaping while I’m gone.Otherwise... a certain someone may have to pay the price.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She says with impassion. 

“Good girl.”He pats her head.The guise of affection makes her recoil.

She walks him to the entrance of the Manor, where he grabs a suitcase and scurries ahead beyond the gate.His white coat disappears into the white fog. 

****

Alone in the Manor, Aerith sits at her vanity table combing her hair with a behemoth bristle brush. She closes her eyes. _Mother... can you hear me?_

No response, though she thinks she hears a melody.It is indistinct at first, as if it could be in her mind, but soon materializes.It is the sound of piano keys, out of tune and in great disharmony, keys rising and falling in octave. 

Someone is playing the piano in the parlor across the hall.The phantom fantasia leads her into the corridor, where her nightgown rustles against the carpet.It is so dark, she has only glints of moonlight peeking through the mantle to guide her path.She feels for the clarity of a knob, and the door creaks open.Inside, the room is coal black save for the moonlight falling on the piano. 

She lights the candelabra, extinguishes the match under her breath.There is no music, no sign of life inside.A sillage of roses, oud and incense fills the room with a heady spell— Aerith finds herself in a daze.She staggers onto the floral chintz armchair, bewitched by a mysterious power.

When she comes to, she gleams a silhouette by the doorway, blurry and unfathomable. The shadow quickly disappears. _Must be a mouse._ She shrugs,dusts off and collects herself. _This place is old after all._ She returns to the corridor, now with candlelight.All is well;a mere rodent does not scare her.Back in the hall, a chill penetrates the air.Footfalls creak through the floorboards. 

In the periphery of her eye she thinks, for a moment, that she sees a face in the silver mirror on the wall — a human face — and her heart goes still from the shock.She looks again, and the face has morphed into an indiscernible shadow, lurking behind her.

She hurries to her room, panting and heaving, throws the counterpane over her head.Her room is cold, so cold, despite the heat of summer, it is _so_ cold.

The figure enters the room and hovers by the foot of her bed.It is a man’s silhouette, yet not fully man.No, there is something beast-like about him, the way his hands take the shape of claws, the way his eyes glow like a pair of blood rubies set in porcelain.But the rest of him is human — albeit pallid, gaunt, famished.

 _P-please_ , she wants to say, _go away_ , but her throat is constricted by an inexplicable force, and her limbs deaden.The figure comes forth, running a hand up her thigh, into her nightgown and past her torso. The hand is cold with frost, its sinuous fingers clawing at her skin, and then there is the coldest breath, blowing into her neck, panting... panting.Rose, oud, incense.It’s that smell again, and it lingers on him.

She thinks she hears him whisper: _Lucrecia…_

A pair of small, porcelain daggers come forth to join with her neck and a low rumbling growl, like that of a beast, vibrates the entirety of the bed.She squeezes her eyelids shut, waits for the figure to pass from her nightmares into the borderland of dreams. _I have to wake up._ Her body lays frozen, monstrous cold hands are felt acutely over her breasts. _I have to wake up!_ The growl increases in volume, shrieking in climax; droplets of blood dispense down her collarbone, lapped up in a frenzy. 

The shadow withdraws, its heavy footfalls trail away from the room into the corridor.Aerith lays there, doll-like, vacant-eyed, not a breath left inside of her. 

****

The room eventuates in sunshine, the clouds in the sky grow hazy and flocculent.Aerith tidies up her bedsheets which have misshapen from a night of tossing and turning.She organizes the items on her vanity, covered in knick knacks; the jewelry box in the corner piques her curiosity. She spots a pendant glimmering inside,it is crescent shaped like the sickle of a moon.  Engraved with gorgeous lettering, the pendant reads:

 _For my beloved Lucrecia -_ _Love, V._

Aerith's cheeks tinge with jealousy.What a lovely courtship it must have been, perhaps a forbidden one between Shinra staff, she surmises, filled with romantic gloom.At twenty, Aerith has only ever dreamed of having a lover.Dark reveries form in her mind.Perhaps one day she’ll experience a heart wrenching love of her own, but until then, the miserable tedium of house chores will have to do.

She tidies herself in the looking glass; the behemoth brush snags through her elflocks, causing loose hairs to cling to its bristles. “Ugh. What a crazy nightmare that was last night. This place is cursed.” As she sets the brush down on the vanity, a glimpse of her profile appears in the mirror, and her face twists in horror. 

Ghastly marks sit on her neck, the area surrounding them pink and slightly raised, warm to the touch.The jewelry box tips over the edge of the vanity; a necklace snaps and disperses several dozen pearls across the carpet.She feels faint, runs into powder room, fills the basin with water.With a jagged sponge, she scrubs her neck until her flesh is raw and red. 

*****

Hojo returns one morning and immediately Aerith is shuffled into the garden where an easel awaits her;she once again finds herself in a self-induced trance, imparting psychedelic patterns onto the canvas, the colors lurid, the shapes too abstract for Hojo’s liking. 

She opens her eyes, stares at the image on the canvas.It speaks something beyond human comprehension, beyond Hojo’s comprehension. 

He grits his teeth.“What, pray tell, is this painting supposed to show me?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, wilting in posture, “This is the best I could do.”Her hands drop to her hips, cramped and sore.

“Tired already...?I let you out into the light of day and this is how you repay me?The _Promised Land_ , Aerith.Show me _The Promised Land_.”He forces her hand against the canvas, crushing her fingers under the weight of his strength.“Unless, of course, you never wish to see your mother again!”

“I’m sorry!”She cries.“Let me do it, let me try again—“

His hand flies; a bolt of pain lands across her cheek and she falls face down in the grass.Tears of sorrow merge with the earth, a sob stifles under her breath. 

“Make yourself useful and go prepare dinner.We are having some guests this evening.Be sure to change out of those filthy rags before you see anyone; I would hate to have you entertain them as you are.”He flicks a cigarette on the ground next to her.“...and do scour the vicinity for some flowers, will you?That empty vase on the dining table? Drab, hideous.Ruins the whole mood of the place.”

She listens as his footfalls grow distant, pattering away in puddles left by an earlier rainfall.Sprigs and branches riddle her hair, dirt and filth clog her pores.She blows her nose into her headdress.Flowers, he says. What flowers?There is but desiccated plant matter surrounding the Manor.Still, she knows that Hojo will not relinquish the topic until she somehow produces _flowers_ for him.She wanders into the east side of the garden, climbing over vines, weeds, thicket, deadfall. 

In the corner of her eye, she sees something miraculous — a beaming shade of fire engine red.A lone rose grows amongst the thicket.It seems to call out to her, sensing the Cetra blood which courses through her veins.The petals unwind into full bloom when she touches it.Her smile rekindles. 

Footsteps approach, the vestige of human breath.She is not alone. The shadow looms large behind her.Her throat expands, and she closes her eyes.“Who's there!?” She screams, fighting the nerve to look.A hand falls on her shoulder and she lets out a gasp. 

“Relax.It’s me.”

She opens her eyes, sees a long legged man in a black suit and chamois gloves.The familiar mole on his forehead awakens her from her dark spell. 

“T-Tseng!What a surprise.I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I arrived just moments ago.It’s been a while, Aerith.”

“Yes, it has.”  Her smile is unusually candid.

“What’s the matter?”His eyes brim with concern.“You look awful.”

“Nothing.”She says, suddenly aware of the mottles of dirt and soil which blacken her garments. “I was just picking flowers for the vase in the dining room.See, I’ve managed to find this rose—“

When she looks, there is crimson dripping down her wrist.

“Aerith...” Tseng’s eyes widen.“You’re bleeding.”He takes her fingers and places them neatly into his mouth, sucking the floral venom out, spitting it back into the earth.

Her cheeks grow warm, her hand dangles over his mouth in ambivalence.“Please, Tseng.You don’t have to — I’m not a child anymore.”

“No, you aren’t.”He says, taking a napkin from his lapel and running it across his lips. “Which is why you should be more careful.Roses have thorns.” 

He is met with the back of her.The conversation ceases, and she begins walking away. 

“What is it?Have I said something to offend you?”

“I prefer household chores over an unprecedented lecture.”She pouts. 

“Well... you want this rose, don’t you?”The flower is removed with a pocket knife and wrapped neatly into the silk napkin.“Then it’s yours.” 

“Thank you, Tseng.”To her chagrin, Tseng has made her feel childish, as he often does.“Though I could have retrieved it myself.”

They walk through the labyrinth of shrubbery where she catches him stealing glances at her. The nature of their meeting is furtive, planned. This is a man who has protected her from the shadows since childhood; he will continue watching her until the end of time, she is sure of that much. She contemplates, for a moment, whether it would be wise to inform him of the mysterious figure which entered her room a few nights prior.Tseng of all people could take care of that quickly.Try as she does, however, she is unable to describe, in lucid detail, the reality which occurred.It all seems like a wash of nightmares; the claws on her breasts, the alien sensation against her neck, and the final spurt of blood which trickled down her flesh. “To be honest, Tseng…”

“What is it?” 

No, she cannot speak a word of this to anyone.“…nevermind.”

“I hear they’ve made you the Lady of the Manor.”He says, breaking her train of thought.

“Ha! From who?Did _Hojo_ tell you that?He sure likes to embellish.”

“It’s been the hot topic among Shinra staff.”

“Oh, has it now?How disappointing, Tseng.I didn’t think you cared for gossip.”She looks down at the pile of leaves collecting at her feet.“I’m no more than a glorified servant here.It sucks.”

“I’m aware that it isn’t glamorous, but you have to think of the greater good, Aerith, should you ever lead us to the Promised Land.” 

“I’ll try.”

“I believe in you.” 

She wishes he wasn’t so blinded by his faith in her, his faith in the Promised Land.She wishes he would see her as a regular woman, just once, but that was never a part of their agreement.Tseng has long made a pedestal for her to sit on, kissed her hand, and bent his knee on the dais.

They enter the Manor through backdoor of the kitchen.Hojo comes forth in a pair of rabbit slippers, his lab coat reeking badly of rot and chemicals which he himself has become anosmic to.“Aerith, you fool!I thought I told you to change out of those stupid, hideous rags.Hurry to your room and run the bath before anyone else sees you.”He turns to Tseng, who stands there idly.“And when you’re done, make the Turk some damn coffee.”

“It’s fine, Professor.”Tseng says, seating himself on a stool by the kitchen sink.“I’m here on duty, not leisure.Take your time, Aerith.” 

****

With her hand in a mitten, Aerith retrieves the behemoth roast from the oven and lays it to rest on the counter.She collects the finest silverware from the cupboard, Shinra heirlooms reserved for guests only, and sets them on the dining table where the lone rose she gathered earlier peeks through the vase. 

Her chest puffs out proudly.She has prepared an appetizer of deviled chocobo eggs.Cake and cream for dessert. 

Seven guests from the Science Department are expected.At a quarter to six, a plethora of lab coats begin to roll into the dining room, a black suit standing out amongst them. They sit in order of seniority, with Hojo at the very end of the table where all eyes fall upon him.The chair to his right remains empty. 

Tseng takes his seat across from her. They are situated at the opposite end from Hojo. 

“Hey Tseng, “ she whispers.“Someone’s missing.”

“You needn’t worry about that person.”Tseng assures her.“They keep odd hours.We can assume that they are in their room, resting.”

“Aww... that’s a shame, and I went through all the trouble of preparing dinner for them...”

Tseng slices his steak with the delicate precision of an assassin. He is occupied with his meal now and cannot be bothered to converse with her. 

Her lips curve upwards into a mischievous grin.She swings her foot under the table — it brushes against his ankle.“How do you like my cooking, Tseng?”She asks.With him present, Aerith feels a bit like herself again.

“It’s far more edible than I expected.”

She gives the Turk a swift kick in the knee, causing him to jerk back in his usual, silent manner.“Psh. You’ve never been one to enjoy nice things, but that’s okay.”She winks.“Never took you for a man of culture.”

“Eat your dinner before it gets cold, Aerith.”

****

Day after day, the seventh guest remains absent from breakfast, lunch, dinner.Aerith grows wary — surely it can’t be healthy for someone to fast for nearly a week?Leftovers pile up in the icebox.On the sixth day of the guest’s arrival, Aerith’s hospitality overtakes her.Hojo grants her access to the east wing where the scientists are situated.She knocks at the guest’s door.

“Excuse me!I’ve brought you some dinner.”

Silence. Long, interminable silence.The tray sits heavy in her arms, waiting to be delivered.She hears an indistinct rustling when she leans against the door, and knows that there is someone, some _thing_ , alive in there. “I’m coming in.”She announces formally. 

Under the velvet awning sits a man, fully nude, with ever so feline eyes piercing through her. His face is framed by long locks of glimmering silver; slants of moonlight cut across his torso and highlight his finely sculpted abs.In his hand he holds a sword, long and needle-like, seems little phased that she has barged in, and stares at her with both the benevolence of an angel and the thirst of a demon.

“I’m sorry!”Aerith shuts her eyes at the sight of him.“I couldn’t help but to notice you hadn’t eaten for days.”She places the tray down on the table beside the bed.“I’ll just leave this here and...”

The man grabs her wrist, pulling her towards him.His body is cold and wet;he must have just finished bathing, and now droplets of water trickle from his hair onto her apron.“What’s your name?” He asks without a morsel of reserve.

“A-Aerith.”She gulps.In his arms she is small and pixie-like, and he towers over her like a god. 

“Aerith.I assume you are the housekeeper— I’ve a sword that needs polishing.Will you do it for me?”

She blushes furiously, feels his manhood dangling against the ribbon on her waist;he smells of sweat and aldehydes, of pheromones, mako baths.“P-polish your own damn sword!” She screams in disbelief.She flees from his arms, turning around just in time to impart a single word — “Jerk!” — before slamming the door behind her.

What a miserable discovery it is, finding this stranger in the opposite wing of the same house.She shivers at the thought of him, his eyes which startle like a pair of emerald stones burnished to perfection.He could follow her, and with that big long sword of his, impale her in her sleep.

She bites her nails frantically, dashes down the corridor, past the foyer and into the kitchen.There, she sharpens a butcher knife. This will come in handy from now on. 


End file.
